


cold nights and the sunday mornings

by pettigrace



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deaf Character, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hartmon Fest 2019, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-20 18:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18130658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettigrace/pseuds/pettigrace
Summary: 5 times that Cisco asks Hartley what he hears.





	cold nights and the sunday mornings

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the Hartmon Fest!  
> (You didn't think I'd let this pass me by, did you?)
> 
> I had originally meant to write something for **Day 16 (What Do You Hear?)** but while I wrote it, it included lots more as well. Which is good because I couldn't finish it on time for Day 16. So now we also have: **Day 5 (Hurt/Comfort)** , **Day 6 (Canon)** , a slight take on **Day 21 (Hugs)** , **Day 23 (Working Together)** , and then - of course and obligatorily - **Day 24 (The Past)** and **Day 27 (Unspoken)**. I love how I didn't even remember anything of the prompt list beyond Day 16 and yet this is what you get.
> 
> Basically, this is my personal rebellion against The CW's ableism. **I'm not Deaf** , so I apologize if I handled anything wrong. Let me know!
> 
> Also, this includes a **minor re-write of The Sound and the Fury** (there's basically only a bit of the dialogue and even that is changed) and the **rest of the fic isn't tied to anything in canon** , not even a specific setting. I also keep remembering/understanding Hartley's "issues" differently whenever I think of them - don't ask me why, let's just work with my garbage brain here - and that's the most prominent take it has on the thing.
> 
> The fic's title is from George Ezra's "Hold My Girl", you'll see why when you read this.
> 
> And now I'll finally shut up and let you go on. Thanks, I hope you enjoy!

i.

There’s things that Cisco has tried not to let get to him. Minor things, stuff that should seem trivial compared to what’s been going on in the city - with him, with his friends - in the past year. The particle accelerator exploding, harming and killing people - both strangers and people close to him (he feels himself choke at the thought of Ronnie) -, taking care of Barry while he was in the come and then… and _then_ , the whole thing with the superpowers. It’s a nerd dream come true, so of course it’s what occupies his mind most of the time. Finding out what exactly Barry’s powers entail, helping him fight crime and seeing the impossible happen day after day. And usually all this is enough to keep him distracted - from the memories of that fatal night, the pain and tragedy they have caused and suffered. It’s easy to forget that many of the people they fight have their powers because of _them_.

There’s days and nights where he’s slipping, where none of the distractions will take and he… _remembers_. The extremely bad things, flashbacks to the accelerator opening and to his time at High School, times he’s desperately tried to forget, and then others, too. Like a certain smirk being directed at him, displaying an aura of arrogance and the kind of self-esteem that makes you roll your eyes before you even exchanged a single word with its bearer. It’s always something that’s been stitched into his memories of the early days at STAR Labs, even the happy and exciting ones.

And it certainly doesn’t help that this exact smirk is facing him right now, in the present, in real-life.

Cisco gulps while looking at Hartley through the glass. It’s funny, really, because he hasn’t really expected to ever see him again. Maybe one day at some important expo that they’ve both been invited to as famous inventors - or, an even better idea, he wouldn’t have seen Hartley there at all because he didn’t get anywhere in life after being fired from STAR. Though, come to think of how Hartley’s warnings have proven themselves to have been correct, that imagination has a sour taste to it.

Right now, Hartley’s expression has a certain vibe to it, one that makes Cisco think that _maybe_ he’s _meant_ to get captured - like there’s a plot he’s got down and they’re all his pawns.

Cisco has never liked being used for _anything_. He’s always gone his own way, no matter what others have had in mind for him. He certainly won’t start playing along _now_ and especially not for _Hartley Rathaway_.

Seeing him stand there with his hands leaned against the walls of the cell like he isn’t imprisoned but just randomly chilling there… it makes Cisco’s blood boil. You know, if that happened to _him_ , he’d be panicking. Or, if like Hartley he honestly were at fault for it, he’d be mad about being captured. Or something. But no, Mr Hartley Rathaway pretends to still be the personification of calmness because he’s _so much better_ than everyone else.

Cisco shoots a grim look down at the tablet in his hands before activating the sound system of the cell. “The scanner is detecting foreign metallic objects in your ears,” he states - this time it’s _him_ who’s the calm one, he’s decided. “Take them out.”

“I can’t,” Hartley snaps, sounding all like the crybaby he used to be. “I suffered head trauma when STAR Labs exploded. My hearing-- Without these I’m in pain you can’t imagine.”

Cisco watches him, trying to make out whether he’s lying or not. The truth is, he doesn’t know, but it’s not like Hartley can do anything with those hearing aids or whatever inside the cell. Hell, he doesn’t even have any tools there to pull some strings or whatever. Still, one thing intrigues him. “ _Your hearing_?” He repeats. “So, what _do_ you hear?”

Okay, so: He _hasn’t_ expected that Hartley would suddenly break down and start sobbing or anything, he’s not that delusional, but he also didn’t think the smirk could get any wider. He looks like a cat like this, like a hunter watching his prey as he tilts his head ever so slowly. It makes Cisco gulp without meaning to.

He has no idea how long it actually takes, but it feels like hours where he can’t make himself look away. But finally, Hartley rasps, “Everything.”

Cisco rolls his eyes in return. He shouldn’t have thought he’d get a real and truthful answer out of the guy. Instead, he gets _nothing_ but his insufferable case of narcissism.

Hartley looks almost proud of himself for that one (why exactly, Cisco doesn’t know), judging by the glint in his eyes added to the smirk that’s _of course_ still in place. If anything, it only grows _even wider_ \- how the hell? - at Cisco’s reaction.

It’s a reflex, but with a huff Cisco turns and makes the cell shut closed completely. Instead of continuing to look into Hartley’s stupid face he’s staring at a metal wall now and it’s a _relief_. Because just like two years ago, just being watched like this, _ridiculed_ by Hartley, doesn’t just make him mad. It makes something inside of him kick off, something from growing up competing with Dante, that makes him want to _prove_ himself by any means.

And wouldn’t that be fun? Diving back into old, unhealthy patterns? Letting his feelings get the best of him, probably playing right into Hartley’s scheme? No, he can’t do this. He doesn’t _want_ to do that, so he needs to play it cool.

So… well, if Hartley doesn’t _want_ to cooperate, then that’s _his_ problem. _Cisco_ has the freedom to turn around and do whatever he wants. And since Hartley can hear _everything_ , he surely won’t miss any of it.

But just to make sure that he really know it, while he walks away Cisco says over his shoulder, “Well, anyway, I have a date with some nice Jitters coffee if you’ll excuse me.”

 

 

ii.

Seriously, he’s thought he’s seen it all. When your everyday life consists of fighting evil people who have superpowers with _your_ superpowers, you just assume that there’s a day where it can’t get any weirder.

Cisco has yet to encounter that day, he realizes now as he dives through one of the streets in downtown Central, trying to hit a freaking _invisible_ villain of the week.

“Don’t we know anyone with, like, supervision or something?” Joe wants to know, voice alert - both worried and annoyed as he ducks behind the next police car. “So many freaks around and _yet_ …”

Cisco huffs at that, shooting a blast of energy at where the last shot had come from. It puffs into non-existence as it doesn’t hit _anything_. With Barry out of Central - apparently there’s Arrow business going on that couldn’t _just_ stay _that_ , keeping him in Starling even when they called him and said _he needs to get back ASAP_. If Barry were here, he could read every inch of their surroundings within a moment. Knowing him, he would probably run _against_ their invisible foe. But now they can’t do anything but aim at random - and Cisco _swears_ this person has speed, too. It can’t be possible that they just won’t _hit_ him.

Joe has a point - several, actually. It’s just their luck that among the many metahumans (both good and bad) that they have met, there’s not one who could look through this baddie’s invisibility? It certainly doesn’t get disrupted with any movement, and Cisco supposes that at least a few of his blasts can’t have been _that_ far off, so the radiating energy of those don’t do anything either. How the hell are they supposed to figure out where this guy - _person_ , they don’t even know their gender - is hiding? It’s not like they could play _Marco Polo_ and get them out of hiding like that.

And then, out of sudden, he feels himself stop short. _Of course_. That’s it: _sound_. They can’t locate the meta with their eyes, but if they could _hear_ them… They don’t know any _meta_ with super-hearing, but someone _else_ \-- and as much as Cisco hates to admit it, he knows that he’ll have to step down and ask for help. Otherwise, that… Chameleon ( _no_ , that name doesn’t feel right) can wreak havoc the whole day and they wouldn’t be any wiser.

He grimaces as he shouts over to Joe. “Hold on for a sec, I need to get someone!” He calls as he opens a breach, knowing exactly where to end up. He can only hope that he doesn’t end up having to bleach his eyes because he barged in on something.

The last he hears as he jumps into the breach is Joe’s baffled, “Wait, did you just say some _one_?”

 

-

 

He’s not met with a horrifying sight, thankfully. Instead, there’s a TV running, showing some documentary about taxes or something boring like that, and Hartley spread out on the sofa staring at the screen. At least Cisco guesses that’s what he’s done until he’s crashed into the room.

Now, Hartley’s sat up, staring at him with an open mouth. Apparently he’s completely oblivious to the way his shirt is riling up, revealing a line of skin above the boxers he’s wearing. Huh, somehow Cisco has never thought Hartley even _knew_ what casual clothing was. Not that your underwear is casual clothing--

“Um,” he makes, interrupting his own line of thought. He licks his lips and forces his eyes to look at Hartley’s _face_ rather than anywhere else. “I need your help.”

“You need my help,” Hartley echoes. He keeps staring at Cisco like he can’t believe he’s here and pushes himself onto his knees, looking up at him. At least it makes his shirt falls down again. “So you just barge into my home.”

“It’s… kind of an emergency?” Cisco says carefully, rubbing over his neck. His own words remind him of the urgency then and he shakes his head at himself. “Like, _you’re my only hope_ -level of emergency.” He hates that he has to say it, and he certainly hates the way Hartley’s face lights up at that, slowly forming a smirk, but he also knows it’s probably the only way to convince him to come along.

Hartley acts like it doesn’t satisfy him at all. Instead, he fakes a deep sigh and says, “Intellectual or heroing?”

“Um,” Cisco makes again, because he’s at the top of his intelligence today. He can’t even be offended that Hartley thinks he’d need his help to figure something out. “More like, we have someone invisible to catch and Barry’s out of town so your hearing aids may be the only thing helpful.”

It’s enough to make Hartley look… kind of alarmed. “Sure, let me grab--”

“You don’t need your gloves, I got you covered.” Cisco says quickly, because _wow_ , he’s really wasting time, isn’t he? Joe’s in danger or maybe the villain has already fled without anyone even noticing, making the police look stupid or something _dangerous_ going on and he’s just standing here and arguing with Hartley without even really arguing and--

“ _Pants_.” Hartley closes. He gestures down at himself and Cisco pointedly does _not_ follow with his eyes. Instead, he just nods and steps aside, letting him rush into the bedroom.

 

-

 

“You brought the _Piper_?” Joe doesn’t just sound surprised, but pretty much scandalized. Well, understandable since Hartley is still a villain most of the time but it’s not like they’ve never had a collab with someone like that before (and _literally_ Hartley, too) - just think about the times that Barry has asked Snart for help! Though, thinking about how that’s very much just because of the crush his friend has developed on Captain Cold… Not the right comparison to make.

Instead, he takes his hand off from where it’s been fisted into Hartley’s hood - because even if he left the gauntlets at home he insisted he needed his ‘cape’ - and says, “I had to improvise!”

Joe still doesn’t look too happy, but after taking in Hartley’s figure for a moment, he nods grimly. Honestly, Cisco can’t blame him with the way Hartley keeps drumming his fingers against his leg like he’s waiting for a boring business meeting to start; it looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here and doesn’t even take it seriously. But still, he’s their best bet.

“Well, Hart,” Cisco says finally, looking at him. “What do you hear?” He’s already caught him up as he waited for Hartley to get dressed - shouting what was up while he stayed in the living room, getting nothing but hums in reply. It’s been awkward, being in Hartley’s flat like this (and for the first time, no less) but it is what it is.

Hartley closes his eyes briefly, concentrating on the sounds around him. Cisco had never watched him actively seek out anything specific, but he thinks this may be a show. A way of making himself look more awesome than he is. Totally ridiculous. Especially since he doesn’t even know what to look for except “movement without visible cause”, so it’s not like he’s aware of a certain sound to single out. _Honestly_ , they don’t even know if this person, like, flies or something. If they do, then they’re fucked.

Suddenly Hartley opens his eyes, turning around swiftly. “There’s someone walking way too carefully here,” he explains, barely moving his mouth - probably in case that they are being watched, too. “They’re moving to the East,” (of course Hartley randomly knows where East is in the middle of the city), “Cisco, get ready to-- aim at that hydrant over there. I’ll tell you when to hit it.”

Cisco scoffs lightly - sure, Hartley’s just doing what he’s told him to, but that doesn’t mean he likes being bossed around by him - but in the same moment he follows along. The hydrant is on the opposite of the street, almost hidden behind two parked cars; though what isn’t, really, right now? So many people have stopped right there at the sign of disturbance, leaving their cars all over the street. He supposes it’s been lucky for them because it made fleeing so much more difficult for their thief. And vandalism. And kidnapper. That’s how it had all began, after all. Anyway, he supposes hitting it will be easy, as long as nobody steps onto the street.

“Joe, you watching the people?” He asks. His eyes are fixed on the hydrant, arms ready to go, and he can feel Hartley next to him, as tense as he is.

“I gotcha,” the detective confirms. Then he starts mumbling codes into his walkie-talkie to inform his colleagues about what’s happening.

“Don’t tell me he’s changing directions, Hartley,” Cisco says after another moment, feeling himself grow impatient. He _hates_ this. Not knowing where the bad guy is is one thing, but having to rely on _Hartley Rathaway_ of all people to figure it out? There’s a small part inside of him that can’t help but think he’s being led on, even if, realistically, he hasn’t shown any sign of fucking up recently.

“No, they’re… they’re just very slow. Keep stopping and looking around.” Hartley answers quickly. And before Hartley can open his mouth to ask the next question on his mind, he continues, “Wait until the hydrant because-- the water might disrupt _their_ power. Either that, or they’ll leave footprints if they haven’t been hit themselves.”

“Makes sense,” Cisco answers without thinking. “They aren’t, like, talking to themselves?”

“Not out loud. Try not to look so suspicious, Cisquito.”

“First you say I should be ready, now I’m supposed to be all casual--”

“Of course you have to be ready!” Hartley hisses, “But that doesn’t mean you should paint a whole sign about _how_ ready you are. Jesus, why don’t you wear neon while we’re at it?”

“We can’t all go around cosplaying a dementor, you know,” Cisco replies. Honestly, he can’t help that he isn’t as sneaky as Hartley and his rat attire - _his_ flair for the dramatics is on the loud side, the exaggerated things. So yeah, he’s not as subtle as he should be, probably, but it’s not like this is the first time Hartley sees what he’s like.

“Um, guys?” Joe cuts in. “ _Focus_.”

There’s a pause, no doubt one where Hartley shoots him an angry look, before he lets out a sigh. “Honestly, I think this guy was _too_ _slow_ for you to hit him.”

“We’re not fighting a turtle,” Cisco rolls his eyes. “He was way faster earlier. Now, let _us_ speed this up. Just tell me where he is.”

Hartley clicks his tongue. He takes his time with answering, so long that Cisco can’t help finally turn to look at him. In that moment, Hartley nods ahead. “There. In front of the balloon store.”

And instead of shooting, Cisco drops his hand at that.

“What?”

“I can’t hit a _balloon store_!” Isn’t that obvious?

“I thought your power was _energy_ , not _fire_ ,” Hartley says carefully. Well, that, but also pretty annoyed, too. “That reacts with helium?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Cisco admits. He hadn’t even thought that far. Oh _God_ , what if the whole building exploded? “But it’s a _balloon store_! Who destroys a balloon store?”

Now it’s Joe’s turn to grow impatient. “You ain’t destroying it! Just freaking _do_ something!” He bellows, not really loud - he’s still keeping in mind that they’re trying to be discreet; policemen are truly admirable - but decidedly.

And Cisco doesn’t know how exactly it happens, but within the next second Hartley is standing behind him. It’s close to an embrace, especially with the way Hartley’s holding onto him; a hand on each of his arms, his collarbone pressing against one of Cisco’s shoulders. In a swift and careful motion he adjusts the position of Cisco’s arms and then, finally, he breathes, “Okay, shoot.”

The blasts happen before Cisco even wants, maybe caused by surprise more than actual planning. He stills feels Hartley’s fingers pressing into his arms when the blast hits, making their enemy go down - _visibly_. When Joe rushes past them and towards the balloon store (unharmed, not even a blow against the wind chimes), Hartley doesn’t jump away, but retracts slowly.

Cisco clears his throat, somehow feeling awkward - it _is_ somewhat embarrassing that he was basically used like a weapon, after all - and kicks against the concrete. “Well-- Let’s look at our… Invisible Rogue, huh?”

Hartley lifts his head (he’d looked somewhere on the ground, just like Cisco had) to give him a curious look. “ _Rogue_? Nah, that person isn’t a Rogue.”

“What do you mean _that person isn’t a Rogue_? What do you know?” Cisco makes. Then it dawns on him. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re part of the Rogues.” Somehow it fits, because the Hartley he knows would _love_ to join a team of messed-up people, especially when it gives him an opportunity to show off. But at the same time Cisco feels like the Rogue’s agenda… it’s not Hartley’s style, not really.

“Only for a week,” Hartley shrugs. “Though the boss still asks me for tabs on the Flash’s _private_ life.” He adds with a smirk.

“No,” Cisco breathes. “Really?” Looks like Barry might not be all alone with that crush of his (which he’d never admit to). And _oh_ , how much better teasing him about it will be from now on.

There’s a sparkle in Hartley’s eye but nothing more of a reply to that question. Instead, he starts walking away. “Now come, let’s see who’s kept you busy for so long.”

 

 

iii.

Even if there’s nights where being alone in the labs is more than freaky - just thinking about the many awful things that have gone down there sends shivers down his spine. Still, it’s also the most peaceful way of working; plus, it’s way more space to build things than his scrappy one-room apartment. Not to mention the many tools he gets to choose from here.

Which is, apparently, not only _his_ favourite thing about the work bank here.

Also, apparently, he is _not_ on his own. Not inside the _whole_ building at least. Wherever Hartley has been hiding, he’s left it now in favour of tiptoeing into Cisco’s tinker chamber and giving him a heart attack.

“Do you have a micro-sized wrench?” Technically, Hartley’s voice is barely above a whisper, but with the silence all around him (coming from other people, at least, the Star Wars soundtrack playing in the background doesn’t count), Cisco almost jumps out of his seat.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Hartley’s enough,” comes the dry answer. There’s not even a smirk in place to indicate that Hartley is aware what an overused and bad joke he has just used. Generally, looking at him, it almost seems like reality is a construct - it’s the middle of the night and there he stands, looking the same as always. Dark clothes in place (Cisco still catches himself being confused at how he switched from dress shirts to long sweaters and skinny jeans), hair in the wanted unkempt style as during the day, and glasses in place. Hell, there’s not even a sign of fatigue under his eyes.

“Haha,” Cisco makes. “Very funny, never heard that one before.” He opens a drawer and starts looking through the box of wrenches. “How micro exactly? What are you working on?”

This time, it’s actually his curiosity that’s getting the best of him. Weeks ago it would have been suspicion, but ever since the Pied Piper became a semi-official ally to the team, that’s vanished more and more. Hartley has helped a lot of times, so often that even Cisco’s grudge can’t compete with it, so it’s slowly vanishing. So if it were any other time of the day, it wouldn’t be a surprise that he’s working on something here.

“Hearing aids,” Hartley answers, gesturing towards them. He’s rounded Cisco’s chair so that he’s standing next to him, one arm leaning down on the desk right above the drawer. “Constant struggle, really.”

“Really?” Cisco lets out. He raises his head and raises his brows at the other. “I thought it was perfect, coming from you and all.”

Hartley’s not completely oblivious to his sarcasm, as it seems. “It is perfect! For tis design, I mean. But it’s not at all what I _want_.”

“I’m confused,” Cisco admits. Seriously, what’s so difficult about not being all cryptic? He knows the reason for Hartley’s extravaganza is an increased scream for attention, but he’ll be damned if he answers it. Still, that Hartley finds his devices, his _babies_ , lacking is weird.

“‘Course you are,” Hartley answers in an instant. He stands up straighter again with a sigh and points at his right ear. “These? Make me _hear_ stuff.”

Cisco blinks at him. “I thought that was the point.”

“Yeah, for _this_ version.” Hartley says gravely. He turns and leans against the desk now that Cisco’s completely sat up again to stare at him. With a smooth movement, he kicks the drawer closed. “But I only have them because I-- well, I did not figure it out yet.”

“Oh _what_ ,” Cisco laughs. He can’t help it, he’s too surprised by Hartley outright admitting it. There’s questions popping up in his head, mixing up with the pre-existent ones (Okay, so what _is_ the version he wants?) - what’s so difficult about concepting them? Hartley’s one of the most intelligent people he knows, there’s no way to get around that fact, so it must be _really_ difficult if he’d rather walk around with a prototype. And not only that, one that seemingly does nothing close to what it’s supposed to do. “Don’t tell me you’re bored of your _super amazing_ hearing.”

Hartley licks over his lips curtly and crosses his arms. They’re now right in front of Cisco’s face, basically, blocking his sight. Which wouldn’t be a problem normally, because it’s not like he’s particularly interested in Hartley’s face, but since they’re having a conversation it’s quite rude. They shouldn’t even be able to do that, it’s not like Hartley’s biceps and triceps and what-not are any bigger than his, so that’s that. Then, suddenly, he opens his arms again and wipes his hands on his pants, like he’s nervous. Which doesn’t make sense at all. “No, it’s-- You know what happens when I don’t wear them?”

“You said you’d be in pain.” Cisco recalls it clearly, the way Hartley had claimed as much - only to then take them out anyway and blast his way out of his holding cell. “But they’re making it disappear?”

“They should,” Hartley nods. “That’s what I _want_. But so far, I haven’t… I haven’t quite found a way.”

“Wait-- Then what _do_ they do?”

“They help me drown out the noise. They’re louder than it,” Hartley explains, “because they capture more noise around me. So it’s easier to forget about it.” Mood

Cisco huffs. “That sounds like an awful lot of headaches.” How the hell is _more_ noise supposed to help against pain induced by sound already? It makes no sense.

“It’s not exactly-- I don’t know how to explain it.” Hartley admits.

“Shocker,” Cisco comments before he can stop himself. He remembers back when they’ve worked together, how impatient Hartley has grown when he tried to make him understand a theory of his. Science is the world they both live in, but sometimes it’s like they speak different languages. “Try me.”

Once again, Hartley sighs, apparently unsure where to start. He wipes his hands again and then he scratches his neck.

“Well, what _do_ you hear?” Cisco asks. “I mean, the one that puts you in pain-- it’s a different kind of sound, yeah?”

“It isn’t even really a sound,” Hartley answers. He sounds slightly annoyed by that alone, like it’s been bothering him that he can’t quite figure it out. It’s weird to see him without his usual display of professionalism. “Think of a tinnitus, but you just have the _feeling_ of that ringing. Basically, I hear nothing and yet-- it feels like I do. Goes straight to my brain,” he adds. He lifts his hands, maybe unconsciously or maybe to show him exactly where it hurts, and touches his temples lightly. “Pounding, really.”

“And countering it with more sound helps?”

Hartley wriggles his hand. “More or less. It’s easier to concentrate on something else when everything’s loud. Like, this conversation for example.”

Cisco feels himself smirk. “So I’m your savior, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hartley answers with a light scoff. “Music would do the same.”

“Sure,” Cisco shrugs. “So, what you want is to get rid off the— well, it’s not a noise…”

“That’s what I said.” Hartley clicks his tongue again, pushing himself away from the desk altogether. “ _God_ , I miss silence.”

That sentence makes Cisco stumble a little. Truth be told, he has almost forgotten that Hartley used to be - still is? - hard of hearing. He’s never made a big thing out of it, always worn his hearing aids so that nobody would be inconvenienced, so it was easy to forget. In retrospect, it makes sense where Hartley got the idea with helping himself like this.

Cisco’s a loud person. He needs noise, always has to talk or hum or listen to a song or else he’ll start… he doesn’t even know, really. It’s a mixture of things - of thinking, of fumbling even more, of worrying, of… doubting. Distractions are good, at least to him. That’s why, personally, he can’t understand Hartley’s words. But there’s something about it, the fact that it’s what he used to _know_ , that it clicks. It’s a comfort for Hartley, one that he hasn’t had in a long time - the normalcy that he knew.

Not sure how to answer, Cisco ducks his head again. He reopens the drawer and continues shifting through it, holding out a few wrenched for Hartley to take. He’ll probably have to try out a few of them anyway, because the description of _micro_ doesn’t help at all.

There’s a lot on his mind right now, but he can’t quite catch a clear thought. It’s strange, the way he _wants_ to understand what’s going on inside Hartley, yearning for an understanding between them. What comes out in the end is, “Here you go.” He hands him four of the smallest wrenches he could find this fast.

“Thanks,” Hartley says curtly. If he didn’t know it better, Cisco would guess he’s pointedly sounding casual, like he doesn’t want to give away how much he’s just revealed.

He decides to leave him be for once.

 

 

iv.

They’ve developed some kind of rhythm. Long after everyone else is gone - on calm days, at least - both he and Hartley stay in the labs, tinkering. Usually they’re in different rooms, Cisco by his own workbench and Hartley somewhere further inside the building. One time he’s found him in his old office, looking through things in what seemed to be some kind of trance; Cisco has left him be, instantly forgetting what he wanted in the first place. Sometimes they’re even in the same room, each of them working at their own station and… well, Cisco would be lying if he claimed he still doesn’t enjoy Hartley’s company.

There’d be an easy explanation for this - that it’s because it means he isn’t on his own in this haunted corridors. It limits his anxiety about being here (and honestly, why does he feel drawn to coming here, staying here, all the time and yet so much dread about actually _being_ here?), knowing that someone else is present.

But… truth be told, it might just be Hartley _himself_. Sure, knowing the source of random noises rather than being paranoid whether they’re imaginary _is_ reassuring but in the past months he’s kinda grown to _like_ the guy. He’s grudgingly gotten to know just how exactly Hartley’s humour is shaped - sarcastic and seemingly full of himself (come to think of it, if Hartley and Harry ever cross paths this could either become a way too good and scary friendship or an apocalyptic disaster) - and that a lot of times he doesn’t even mean to be such an asshole. Apparently, growing up surrounded by stoic adults rather than fellow kids does that to you. But anyway: now that he’s figured out what Hartley really is _like_ when they aren’t constantly put against each other, he’s come to _appreciate_ him. Even his opinions on projects of the team, though slightly on the brutal side, not caring about collateral damage. It’s weird, but Cisco thinks they _understand_ each other. Somehow.

So, long story short, when it’s the middle of the night and there’s a sudden crashing sound echoing through the cortex, Cisco doesn’t dive right into a panic attack like usually. Still, it doesn’t mean he isn’t surprised that it _does_ happen. As far as he can knows, Hartley is always painfully careful with the material he uses - there’s no way he’d let something fall down, let alone throw it aside. Not to mention the time of the day.

Without much thinking, Cisco sets aside the goggles he’d tried to fix - the early prototypes he’d developed months ago; he thought they could be revamped and turned into substitutes for emergencies -  and pushes himself away from the desk. He doesn’t know where exactly Hartley had ended up this night, so he checks inside every room for him. It doesn’t take too long until he finds him in the med bay.

On the floor. Leaning against a cupboard.

Panting hard.

“Hart!” He calls as soon as his eyes capture the figure crouching in on himself, shivering in a way that looks almost feral. He’s on his knees in an instant, leaning over Hartley and holding onto his shoulders. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Hartley isn’t unconscious - Cisco could already tell by the way he draws his eyes tightly shut but it certainly helps when he moves towards him in a reaction. He groans as he buries his forehead against Cisco’s neck. “Pain,” is all he presses out.

Truth be told, Cisco isn’t quite sure what to do. Not because of the situation that Hartley is in (that he knows perfectly from his own experience; migraines, that is), but because the one he pulls _him_ into. He’s practically embracing him, clinging onto him like Cisco can do anything just like this. Like he’s his greatest source of comfort. Considering that they’ve barely done so much as brushing hands when they passed tools back and forth, it’s… overwhelming.

“It’s a bad day?” He asks, remembering what Hartley has told him before. That that… noise inside his head gets so bad sometimes that even his aids won’t help. He turns over his thoughts time and time again, trying to find something to solve this. “I thought you could handle--”

“No, it’s-- It’s too much,” Hartley says, accompanied by another groan. He brings up a hand to Cisco’s shoulder, pulling him even closer. Helplessly, Cisco turns a little and reaches for the desk lamp, flicking it off. It makes Hartley let out a breathless chuckle, even without lifting his head. “It isn’t _light_ , Cisquito.”

“ _Right_.” Cisco kinda forgot about it - not just because of the way Hartley’s hiding his eyes against his skin, but also because of his own headaches. He’s learnt that for himself, light’s a natural enemy. “I-- What can I do? Aspirin?”

“Doesn’t help,” Hartley coughs. He’s still shivering, but Cisco can’t tell whether it’s from pain or something else. Not knowing what to do, he starts running a hand up and down his back as best as he can in that position. “It’s-- _so much_.”

“Hartley, what do you _hear_?”

He takes a deep breath, a sharp one, before replying. Even in the mumbling, Cisco can hear, can _feel_ , the pain dripping from Hartley’s lips. “Everything.”

For a moment, Cisco closes his eyes as well. He finally sits down properly as well, tugging Hartley to his side in the process as he thinks about what to do. The guy actually lets out another soft whimper at the movement and out of reflex, Cisco shushes him gently.

The sound gives him an idea. Hartley’s overwhelmed with sounds right now - which, considering it’s the middle of the night and they’re all alone in the building, is really concerning (really, it’s pretty much dead in here) - but he’s mentioned before-- _It’s easier to concentrate on something else when everything’s loud_ and _Music would do the same_. Cisco can’t get up to put on music or get his phone, not if it means leaving Hartley like this. So instead, he settles with what he has. Hell, Hartley had also said a conversation could suffice, so this is a solid middle ground, he supposes.

And weirdly enough, it’s easy to sing to-- _for_ Hartley.

“ _I've been waiting for you-- To come around and tell me the truth_ ,” he starts quietly, not sure just how that’s the first song to come to his mind. He tries to keep it at a mumble as he continues, “ _Bout everything that you're going through_ …”

It’s funny - and maybe it’s just because now _he’s_ nervous - but he thinks Hartley’s might calmed down instantly. It makes no sense because even _if_ one solid source of sound does make it better usually, it can’t possibly kick off right away. Maybe the pause in Hartley’s reaction to pain is just surprise about his random singing.

He continues anyway. “ _I've got time, I've got love, Got confidence you'll rise above_ …”

  


v.

Cisco should start _thinking_ about things. Though actually, that isn’t right. He thinks about things plenty - sometimes even too much. Seriously, he misses the carefree guy he used to be before the launch of the particle accelerator. The thing is, though: He never thinks about the right stuff.

Like, summoning two of the least subtle people he knows into his apartment. Not even considering the questions they’d ask, even though they’re very obvious. And then, of course, forgetting that _he_ is really bad at keeping secrets. Thankfully, though, the two of them are more interested in the tech for the time being.

Felicity looks at him with pursed lips, correcting her glasses before she speaks. “Quick question: Why didn’t you ask Ray to bring something like this around?”

 _Of course_ he’s asked Ray about it - honestly, if anyone would know about technology like this, it’d be the engineer flying through all of space and time. But no luck. “They aren’t supposed to mix time periods,” he shakes his head. “Something about impeccable doom and the apocalypse - _again_ ; I didn’t ask questions.”

Both of them pull funny faces at that but while Felicity just nods in understanding, Winn huffs heavily. “ _Man_ , am I glad I don’t have anything to do with time travel.”

Cisco sighs in response. Honestly, the few escapades that _his_ team has had with time travel are enough for a lifetime, if you ask him. He wouldn’t know what to do if he went thousands of years back and forward every single day of his life - doesn’t it mess with the comprehension of _that_ also? Sure, the space and all the travel is cool as hell, but he can’t imagine it’d be all that healthy. What does it say about him that he misses the times where all these worries were theoretical and he could hype time travel as much as he wanted because _hey_ , he won’t live to see it anyway?

He shakes away those thoughts ( _way_ too melancholic) and clasps his hands. “Okay, brainstorm?” He asks, trying to get them back on focussing. As much as he’d love to - and as much as they probably should every once in a while - he didn’t just get them here just to hang out.

“We’re doing this for your boyfriend, right?” Winn wants to know, eyes narrowed as he rubs his cheeks gently. Whether that’s supposed to help him think, Cisco doesn’t know.

He can’t even hide his spluttering, not to mention the blush creeping onto _his_ cheeks, at that. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

Fittingly, Felicity tilts her head at that. “You wish he were, though,” She points out, blunt as ever.

And well… she might be right, like always, so Cisco just presses his lips together. He regrets that because apparently, according to their snicker, a lack of an answer is an answer on its own.

“And you think,” Winn says through his wide grin, “that robbing a guy the ability to hear is gonna make room in his heart for you?”

This time Cisco doesn’t even look away. Instead, he faces him directly and states, “ _Yes_ ,” by which he means the opposite. Be damned that he didn’t deny what Winn’s words are _actually_ getting at, he feels like it needs saying. Because he makes it sound like being Deaf is a burden, when he knows it is not. And not just because it means a relief to Hartley and the pain the particle accelerator inflicted on him, but because it isn’t _robbing_ him off anything. It doesn’t mean his world is more incomplete like this. No, it’d just restore how _full_ his life had _been_.

And it’s not like he’s _completely_ glossed over any of that when he explained to them earlier what they need to develop - sure, he hasn’t gone into too much detail, feeling like it’s Hartley’s private matter most and forall. It’s not like he’s just said ‘You know what? Let’s make this dude go Deaf.’ He’s explained Hartley’s problem and how it’s changed his life profoundly, making him _choose_ too much noise over the silence he knows and how it would really and honestly be better if it went back to normal.

He’s not sure whether Felicity _means_ to distract them from the tension filling the air at that, but her rambling does just that. “So, how do we cancel out a sound that isn’t one?”

“Well, that’s why I got you guys here.”

 

-

 

They did it. Cisco can’t believe it but-- _they did it_. Truth be told, it was mostly Winn tapping into alien technology that they probably shouldn’t even have access to - legally _and_ morally - and he doesn’t really understand it. And it’s rare, but for once in his life he feels like he won’t even _try_ to figure it out; the amount of work in comprehending the general basics of alien technology must already be mind-blowing. (Come to think of it, he’s not sure whether telling Hartley the origins of this tech would keep him _from_ or motivate him _to_ trying his hand on researching it. What’s he supposed to do?)

They even managed to test it. In the most complicated way, but given that just _imagining_ what Hartley must feel doesn’t suffice, it’s been the best they could do: They got the Martian Manhunter on board. J’onn’s read his mind - just to focus on the auditory processing - both while wearing the newly improved hearing aids (though that name is misleading, Cisco should figure out something else) and without them for comparison. It’s also meant he’s heard as _much_ as Hartley does while he’s wearing his _own_ aids, but they figured it out in the end. And, apparently, they’ve been successful.

Cisco couldn’t believe it, no matter how many times Winn and Felicity (and J’onn) told him. But he didn’t have any way of testing it himself, so in the end, he had to agree.

So now the only thing that’s left is giving it to Hartley.

It’s already bad enough that he’s gifting something to Hartley Rathaway, completely regardless of that mini-sized crush he’s developed on the guy - only a few months ago, the only present he’d ever have _considered_ giving him would have been something disgusting or whatever. But now he isn’t just giving him something nice, but something _thoughtful_. Something that is grounded on such _private_ problems, such fundamentally secret wishes, that just wondering about what he’s going _to say_ makes him choke.

He can’t wait any longer any more, he knows that. The devices have been stored in his top drawer, easily accessible for him, for a week by now and he can tell that the others know something was up. He has kept it a secret from the rest of the team, his… activities with the other tech people, because it would only raise even more questions. And if there’s anything he doesn’t need it’s Barry’s ‘I told you people could change’-attitude and Caitlin’s gleeful grins.

But yeah, the more he waits, the more awkward he gets around Hartley, so it’s getting pretty obvious that something’s up. And maybe it’s his own wishful thinking, but Hartley doesn’t just seem _confused_ but even _hurt_ by his behaviour, almost like he cares that they’ve grown so close. So, in summary, he needs to get this done before he ruins the bristle friendship that they _do_ have.

That’s been Cisco’s thought process of the past few nights, actually, but today it’s extra present on his mind. Because for the first time in a while, he and Hartley are spending the night in the same room ( _oh_ , that sounds wrong, but not wrong enough). He knows it’s irrational and most likely not real, but he can practically feel Hartley stare holes into his back while he’s pretending to work on something.

In the end, Cisco lets out a loud sigh. The fact that Hartley isn’t startled by that at all makes him think like _maybe_ his feeling had been right. He shoves himself away from the desk, opening the drawer in the process. _Great_ , now he’s _annoyed_ by himself, which is why he falls into old habits when he finally turns around to Hartley. “Hey, _tonto_ , I got you something.”

Hartley sets aside the book he was pretending to read and sits up. And _wow_ , if Cisco hadn’t already known that apparently Hartley is friends with Leonard Snart, then the fact that he just chills around sitting on the floor would be a safe indicator. And wow, the version of Hartley that he used to know ( _thought_ he had known) would never ever have done that, would he? Hartley is smirking at the insult but he’s alert ( _curious_ ), too. It gives Cisco enough confidence to sit down next to him, mirroring the way he’s crossed his legs.

“So, it took a lot of fumbling-- don’t ask for details,” Cisco says, turning the box around in his hands. “But I asked some friends for help and we-- Well, we might have fixed your problem.”

“My problem?” Hartley repeats. Cisco can’t tell whether he knows what he’s referring to or not, which is one of the most annoying characteristics of his. You _can’t_ trust a guy who has such control over his voice (except he does).

Instead of trying to describe it, Cisco hands him the box. It’s almost a throw, but he’s remembered to be careful with them as well - who knows how sensitive alien tech is? But giving someone a small box of something usually gives away the wrong (in his case _right_ but _secret_ ) idea.

Hartley opens it slowly, definitely more carefully than Cisco had just handled it, and stops short when he discovers the small devices inside. They look pretty much like normal hearing aids; definitely more visible than what he’s wearing at the moment. Cisco watches as Hartley licks his lips, then lets them fall open before looking from the box to Cisco and back down. Finally, he announces, “You got me confused, Cisquito.”

That rare confession makes Cisco chuckle. He leans back on his hands and nods at the aids. “They’re… noise-cancelling in a sense. But more than that,” he explains. “Like I said, don’t ask for details, but they should help you get rid off that tinnitus-thing. And they’re no constant if you don’t want them to be, so if you ever need… you could just switch them for your current.”

“What do you mean _noise-cancelling_?” Hartley doesn’t look confused, as Cisco realizes now. There’s a hint of doubt written into his face, but not of the bad kind. And then way he keeps opening his mouth ever so slightly make Cisco think that he might have made him speechless.

“I think you know what I mean,” Cisco smiles. “You should try them out.”

He watches as Hartley swallows. He doesn’t look at Cisco but at the aids when as he slowly drawls out, “ _Cisco_ \--”

“ _Hartley_ ,” Cisco singsongs. Suddenly he’s more than excited to see his _actual_ reaction to them. He kicks against Hartley’s knee softly. “Put them in.”

Impossibly, Hartley hesitates for another second, but then he finally reaches into the box, touching one of the aids ever so gently. And suddenly something seems to click because then it seems like he doesn’t want to waste any more time. Swiftly, he pulls one of his old aids out (a disgusting and seemingly hurtful process, Cisco decided as he watches) and exchanges it for a new one. Then he does it on the other side.

Both are in place.

Cisco watches him eagerly.

Hartley’s eyes are wide.

He sets aside the box.

Looks around. Closes his eyes.

And _smiles_.

Cisco’s heart stops.

Then jumps.

He reaches out and touches Hartley’s knee - the one he’d kicked only moments earlier. He waits for him to open his eyes again and then he asks, slowly and clearly, “What do you hear?”

Hartley’s eyes grow wide again but his smile doesn’t falter, and Cisco feels his heart hammer in his chest. He watches as Hartley lifts his hands in front of his chest. He presses his fingers together, like when someone imitates a mouth, but leaves them like that even when he moves his hands to the sides. Now he directly looks at Cisco as he smiles, _something_ indescribable in his eyes, as he responds, “Nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Please leave a comment!**  
>  If you liked this, come check out my [tumblr](http://joanthangroff.tumblr.com) or talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/Ll4MDUNBAR).


End file.
